


Raise Up The Sheets

by LolaBleu



Category: Divergent Series - Veronica Roth
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-23
Updated: 2013-02-23
Packaged: 2017-12-03 07:24:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/695724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LolaBleu/pseuds/LolaBleu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tris smiles up from the nook on Tobias' shoulder that was made for her, fingers dancing across the stubble on his cheeks, and her eyes are so full love and trust and tenderness and this is his life, that whatever else is going on around them doesn't matter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Raise Up The Sheets

It’s Tobias’ hand sweeping out across the bed and finding nothing but cold, empty sheets that stirs him into consciousness. He rolls over on his back, scrubbing at his face wearily, trying to find the motivation to take on another day. 

But that’s not right, because he distinctly remembers falling into bed with Tris the night before and agreeing with her through a haze of exhaustion that spending their rare day off in bed sounded like the Best Thing Ever. Because for once they have a day off - a day off that actually coincides with the others schedule - instead of working from sunrise to sunset and being too tired by the end of it to do anything other than sleep until they had to wake up and do it all over again.  
  
None of that explains where Tris is, though the tell-tale sounds of movement from the kitchen does. Tobias stumbles out of bed, head spinning and rubbing sleep from him eyes. When his vision clears he sees her pushed on her tip-toes, reaching for something on a shelf that’s just out of her grasp. But what really draws his attention is the baggy shirt she’s wearing riding up and exposing a swath of lace strung across her backside in lieu of the usual modest black cotton.  
  
A second later his fingers are flowing over the curve of her ass, and she gives a squeak of surprise as she forces her shirt down and spins around to face him in pink cheeked embarrassment. They might have conquered her fear of intimacy ages ago but she can still be shy at his touch sometimes and that alone is enough to get him half hard even without the visual of pale skin juxtaposed against black lace.  
  
“I like them,” he murmurs appreciatively, one arm looping around her waist to hold her firm as he presses her against the kitchen counter, and the other reaching up for the bowl that was just out of her reach. “Remind me to tell Christina ‘thank you’ next time I see her.” He has no doubt Tris never would have bought them without the goading of her best girly friend.  
  
“Pervert,” Tris smirks and pushes him away with small hands against his chest.  
  
“No, just a teenaged boy.”  
  
“Which is pretty much synonymous with pervert,” she snarks. “Hungry?”  
  
Tobias bites back the reply that what he’s hungry for isn’t going to be found in the fridge that she’s now rummaging in because even in his head it’s lame enough to make him roll his eyes, and settles for a shrugged, “yeah, sure”.  
  
One of the things that surprised him when they moved in together after the war is his fascination with her. The way she moves around the kitchen as she cooks or applies her makeup in front of the bathroom mirror in the morning holds his attention as thoroughly as watching her learn to fist fight and wield weapons used to when she was an initiate. Not because she’s a girl, but because it’s new information, another piece of her puzzle, and something he’s privy to that no one else is.  
  
And he would gladly sit back and observe her now - because really, that’s what it is, observation -, but since he doesn’t have anywhere to be either she hands him a bowl and knife and tells him to slice up the strawberries he brought back from Amity the other day. And since he was born for Abnegation he doesn’t protest, will probably even clean up the dirty dishes later since she’ll be doing most of the cooking.  
  
The strawberries though are a treasure this time of year, grown indoors away from the harsh chill of winter and given out to visitors as something between a ‘thanks for coming’ and ‘sorry you had to walk miles through the snow to get here’ gift. Tobias has no idea what Tris is planning for them, even less so when she hands him the tool she usually uses to mash potatoes, but since her cooking experiments usually turn out better than his did when he first transferred, he’s not too worried about it.  
  
Besides, even if his attention isn’t completely focused on her, he is keeping watch out of the corner of his eye and her slender legs and messy bed head hair is enough to keep his teenaged boy brain working overtime on what they can do after breakfast.  
  
In bed.  
  
All day.  
  
By the time they sit down to French toast topped with chopped bananas and mashed up strawberries he has made one other contribution to their meal: a pot of coffee with a packet of hot chocolate mix stirred into it; when he first transferred he practically lived off the concoction.  
  
Tobias keeps a hand on Tris as they eat, fingers tracing around the knob of her knee while they talk about what’s going on with them that they haven’t had the chance to cover before. He likes this part of their relationship too because you can be in love and still feel alone, but he doesn’t with Tris around. It’s just a different form of intimacy, and though ‘sharing’ was the one he struggled with, they overcame it too.  
  
His hand smooths up her thigh when they finish and everything is comfortable silence and relaxation between them. He grips on to her hip for balance and leans in to kiss the sensitive spot behind her ear, a whispered ‘come back to bed,’ condensing warm and humid against her skin.  
  
“Dishes.” It’s a weak protest, and one he isn’t totally unprepared for because sixteen years in Abnegation ingrained certains things as habitual.  
  
“The dishes aren’t going anywhere. They’ll still be waiting for me to wash them later.”  
  
“They’ll be all sticky,” she huffs out because he’s still kissing her neck and that’s doing things to her.  
  
He keeps his, ‘yeah, well, so will you,’ to himself since it would just earn him another surly ‘pervert’. “Come on,” him implores, tugging on her.  
  
By the time he gets her back between the sheets her flush has spread from her cheeks to her neck and down the front of her shirt. She kisses him back, but he can tell she’s still a little distracted. Luckily there’s a simple cure for that.  
  
He disappears under the pile of blankets, pushing her shirt up her hips a little to give him the access he needs. Tris’ legs twitch as Tobias’ fingers curl into the crook of her knees, light and tickling at first, but firmer as he pushes her legs apart enough to fit his shoulders between them. In the dark, close confines of the blankets he can smell her; the soapy, fresh scent of her skin, and the heady scent of her arousal mixing with the humidity of his breath scented bittersweet from breakfast.  
  
Tobias starts at her knees and works his way up, kissing and sucking and raking his teeth across her skin until her breath comes in ragged bursts and he knows he’s got all of her attention, or at least his mouth does and really it’s all the same to him. By the time he gets to the scrap of lace between her legs Tris is shivering with need and one of her hands has come down to stroke at his cheek encouragingly as he presses an open-mouthed kiss against her mound.  
  
Growing up in Abnegation he never received a birthday or Christmas present, but he imagines the exhilaration he feels at unwrapping her is similar to what most people feel when peeling back the paper on the gift they have always wanted. There’s a little awkward jostling, but between his hands and her wiggling she’s bare from the waist down and he’s back between her legs in under a minute.  
  
His tongue traces up the seam of her sex as a sort of preamble, and then his lips are pressing right there and he has to keep a hand on her hip to hold them still while the rest of her arches into his tongue as he spreads her open. And he can’t help feeling a little pride at it because the first time he went down on her he was enthusiastic but unsure and she was kind of mortified. But after a little experimentation he turned out to be better at licking her between her thighs than paying her a drunken compliment; his slurred ‘you look good, Tris,’ still makes him cringe when he thinks about it.  
  
He feels her toes curl against his bare back when he presses a finger into her, curling it just right to hit that spot she never can when it’s her fingers pushed up inside her. There are parts of his body that are still Abnegation, but the part that’s hard straining against the confines of his boxers and jealous of his mouth definitely isn’t. His free hand twitches with every moan and breathy expletive she’s feeding him, eager to ease the tight, achy feeling in his groin. He has to make a conscious effort to ignore it because if he’s not careful he’ll make Tris come, and that’s not how either of them want it to happen right now.  
  
But he does keep at it until Tris moans his name in desperation and pushes him off. Tobias’ hair is tousled and his lips are plump and shiny when he emerges from the blankets, looking smug. Tris traces a finger across her wetness coating his lips and chin, a look wonder on her face. The time has long since passed when she worried about how she smells or tastes and what he would think of it.  
  
When he sucks her finger into his mouth she rolls her eyes and rolls him off of her so she can divest him of the last bit of clothing separating them and crawl on top. He likes this trading off that they do, this back and forth shifting of power, at least for the most part. He doesn’t particularly care for it when all she does is slide herself back and forth over the length of his cock. It’s too much of a tease when all he wants is inside of her, but she’s little and he’s big and lubrication goes a long way.  
  
She smiles at him when his fingers squeeze her hips impatiently and goes up on her knees, holding him in a loose fist to line up their bodies. He’s not the only Abnegation in the room and there’s something about his need for her that gets her wetter than anything he can do with his lips and tongue and fingers.  
  
Still, she’s careful to ease her body down slowly around him because while all he’s ever felt is a tight, wet warmth so much better than his hands, all she felt the first time was pain that only ever dulled to an unpleasant ache that lingered for days after.  
  
Tobias pushes her shirt up far enough that he can watch his body disappear into hers, fascinated by the way it looks and feels as she makes a place for him inside of her, only sitting up to peel off her shirt when her clit’s pressing against his pubic bone. It’s one of her little body-image quirks that she keeps it on as long as she does no matter how many time he tells her she’s beautiful and all he wants; no matter how many time he tells her he likes her on top because he can thrust _and_ lave at her breasts.  
  
Once they start moving and he flops back against the pillows she looks at the wall, the ceiling, the window... anything but him. He wants to tell her she’s perfect, but he’s said it before and only been met with sullen silence, so he bites his tongue and settles for surging up into her in a way that makes her eyes shutter closed in pleasure and her head hang loose between her shoulders.  
  
There’s actually a lot of things he wants to tell her under the influence of the endorphins flooding his brain. Things that would make him sound weak and girlish about how much he loves her and exactly how much she means to him. He tries to make them known with the snap of his hips and the reverential way his hands smooth up and down her back as she moves over him. He hopes she understands them because even if what’s going on between them is pornographic it’s still love.  
  
Tobias scowls when Tris bends back, a hand on each of his knees to vary the simple up-down push-pull of their bodies. He reaches out for her, greedy to keep her close and bends her over him, one hand on her hip, the other between the fragile span of her shoulders. Her hair falls loose, creates a curtain shielding them away from everything else while he bites marks into her neck. Later, he knows, she’ll be mad about it, try to hide the evidence of their lovemaking so other people can’t see it, but right now she’s too lost to care.  
  
He wants to be able to smell their sex in her hair, on her skin when he leans close to whisper something in her ear as they eat with their friends in the dining hall. Wants anyone who gets close enough to her to be able to smell him and what they’ve done and know she’s his because she is and he does get jealous and possessive and all the dark things love breeds along with the light, but he that he controls for her.  
  
They’ve done this enough that he knows the signs, can tell from the way she tightens around him and her face bows into his shoulder that she’s close. But his favourite part is how she goes lax and all her body can do is _take_ because she’s so burdened under the weight of what she’s feeling she’s a slave to it and needs him to bring her off.  
  
And he does a moment later, her moans drowning out the obscene sounds their bodies make as they move with and against each other. He keeps rocking up into her until her body offers one last fluttering clench and she comes down from her high to the reality of him and her and their bed and his need.  
  
“Do you want to go on top?” Her voice is sluggish and her eyes are hazed in euphoria, but she could keep going if that’s what he wants. It might just take her a minute though, until her thighs stop shaking and she can ride him until he dies inside her a little.  
  
“Yeah,” Tobias breathes out, rolling them over and slipping her underneath him. He started and - if he was as obsessed with debts as Peter was - he’d make her finish, but that’s not how it works between him and Tris, not how he would even want it to work.  
  
It takes them a minute to rearrange arms and legs. He end up on his knees with her legs thrown over his, gripping on his hips so she can grind against him. She keeps a hand knotted in his hair and the other knotted in the sheets, and even though he’s got to hold himself up he still finds a way to cradle her cheek preciously in one of his hands.  
  
There are times - time like these - where he looks at her and feels his heart clench painfully. If she had stayed in Abnegation, if he had left Dauntless instead of agreeing to train one last class of initiates, if either one of them had died in war... fate seems fickle and he could have so easily lost her, still could in the shit storm raging outside the Pire. But he didn’t, doesn’t, won’t; will hold onto her and never let go.  
  
His kiss is soft and tongue is teasing as he starts to move inside of her again. He pulls out slow, to the tip, then pushes back in just as slow until he hits something that makes her whimper. He rests his forehead against hers. “Look at me,” he murmurs. It’s still like waking up looking into her grey-blue eyes, still like seeing the sun or God and he thinks he could live in their depths forever.  
  
When they moved in together after the war he had worried to her that he would turn into Marcus, that things had never been easy between them and one day he might snap and hit her. She had listened to him patiently then pulled him close and told him that even if he didn’t trust himself, she trusted him. He knew she meant it, but there were still night for a long time after that when he would sleeplessly watch her, disbelieving and paranoid and feeling as if he didn’t deserve her trust.  
  
She pulls his lips back to hers, whispers soft words of love and devotion against them because she’s always been the braver one between them and she knows how to read him too, knows what he needs to fall apart in her arms, inside of her. And it makes her love him more, his weakness for her.  
  
Tris pecks little kisses to his lips, his cheek, his neck, and watches as his face goes from ecstatic pain to pure bliss as he fills her up, spills inside of her. And when he slumps on top of her, skin sheened in a sweat and muscles fatigued she holds him against her until he regains his boyish charm and rolls off so he can hold her against his chest with a sarcastic, “you wore me out.”  
  
She smiles up from the nook on his shoulder that was made for her, fingers dancing across the stubble on his cheeks, and her eyes are so full love and trust and tenderness and this is his life, that whatever else is going on around them doesn’t matter.  
 **  
**


End file.
